


Interlude

by crackinthecup



Series: Ends and Beginnings [19]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dagor Dagorath, Light Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Reunion Sex, Very vague mentions of past abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:08:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22882285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackinthecup/pseuds/crackinthecup
Summary: Poised on the cusp of the Dagor Dagorath, Melkor and Mairon share a private moment.
Relationships: Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon
Series: Ends and Beginnings [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2112774
Comments: 4
Kudos: 74





	Interlude

The stars hung in the sky like great twinkling diamonds: cold, beautiful, implacable. The dawn was yet young in the East, a stripe of pale light across the horizon. The silence was absolute. The world waited with bated breath.

Mairon was sitting on the small futon on the balcony attached to the quarters he shared with Melkor. Their encampment had been hastily built, designed for effectiveness rather than comfort; they did not expect to tarry there long.

Mairon brought his knees up to his chest, trying to shut out the early morning chill. He had tossed and turned for many hours, prodded by myriads of thoughts, and eventually he had given up on the idea of sleep. Here, he could at least distract himself with the feel of cool air rhythmically entering his lungs. The sensation of breathing still felt new to him after countless years spent without a body.

The flux of power so innate to Melkor crackled over his skin several seconds before his master joined him on the balcony. He glanced over to Melkor standing there shirtless, hair still mussed from sleep, and a small smile curved over his lips despite himself.

Mairon felt the futon dip as Melkor sat down next to him. His stomach lurched at Melkor’s sudden proximity, and he restrained the impulse to reach out and touch him: skin to skin, spurred by the warm animal craving roiling in his stomach, away from the chasm of loneliness hovering on the edge of his mind. The ceaseless preparations for the upcoming battle had not allowed them one private moment since Melkor had restored his physical form.

Several minutes passed in silence. Having Melkor here again was odd, though not unwelcome. Melkor’s presence at his side still felt entirely right on a level he could not even give a name to, but neither of them knew how to slot into the other anymore, not now that so much time apart had chipped them into cruel, uneven shapes.

Eventually Melkor stirred beside him. “Can’t sleep?” he asked him, even though the answer was plainly obvious.

Mairon was grateful that Melkor hadn’t waited for him to break the silence. He shook his head to clear it and tried to focus on his master.

“I was thinking too much,” he replied, idly rubbing at his eyes.

“Are you all right?” The question took him aback; he almost laughed out loud. He hadn’t been all right in millennia.

“I just…” He trailed off, waving a hand in frustration when the words would not come. This raw, lonely part of him collided with the monolith of steel and power and cruelty he had fashioned himself into, and it bound him to silence. He let out a shaky breath, wrapping his arms more tightly around his knees.

There was no point in dwelling on the past, he knew that much. He had his full powers again, Melkor was here, and this time they were going to be victorious. Yet in the few quiet moments he had to himself, memories crept into his mind: the helplessness of those long long years when his spirit had been houseless, years spent wandering the earth with nothing but the darkest of thoughts for company.

Melkor reached for him, gently taking his hand, and the contact pulled him back into the present. Mairon blinked up at his master, but Melkor was not looking at him. He was gazing towards the horizon, a terrible distance in his eyes that made Mairon’s heart clench painfully in his chest. But Melkor’s fingers were warm as they twined through Mairon’s own, and when he spoke there was a grace to him that Mairon had never noticed before.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me.” Melkor sighed, giving Mairon’s fingers a little squeeze. “There’s no need to rush into this. We’ll have all the time in the world for talking and other intimacies when the battle is won.”

It felt like the world had slipped and slid on its axis: Melkor advising patience and Mairon wanting his master to touch him, take him, anything to silence the unending churn of his mind, to make his skin fit more snugly over his bones and his body feel like _his_ again.

But there was a softness there too, a sickly, lovely thing long malnourished in them both: _I love you_ voicelessly mouthed against bare skin, fingers gently carding through hair, fealties unbroken. It had bound them together before, and it would do so again.

There was no room for any uncertainty about this.

It was too early, perhaps, to be intimate with his master, perhaps as Melkor had said they would both benefit from time. But right now Mairon did not care. Where he feared he might slip into that great yawning abyss – the loneliness the despair the sheer fucking self-hatred that made him want to turn his own skin inside out – he knew what would ground him, and he opened his mouth to ask for it.

“Would you...” he began, then faltered; the words were stuck in his throat, and he could feel Melkor’s eyes lingering on him curiously. He swallowed and forced himself to continue. “Would you like to sleep together?”

It took Melkor a moment to grasp Mairon’s meaning, but when he finally did, he seemed surprised.

“Are you sure, little one?”

And if Mairon hadn’t been sure before, then he was now: that private pet name falling so smoothly, so easily off Melkor’s tongue and making the millennia between them seem inconsequential.

“Yes, my lord,” Mairon replied, trying his best at seductiveness, feeling the words stiff and unwieldy on his tongue.

But Melkor didn’t seem to mind. He shifted closer to him, and the next thing Mairon knew was Melkor’s lips on his own, tentative at first but then more insistent, more purposeful.

It was intensely, achingly familiar. With iron will Mairon reined in the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. He focused on the physical sensations igniting their way through him: the softness of Melkor’s lips, the silky, shuddering pleasure of Melkor’s tongue twining with his own, the warm firmness of Melkor’s torso as Mairon drew probing fingers down the exposed skin there. Slowly, reverently he traced the hard lines of Melkor’s abdomen, revelling in the feel of strong muscles flexing underneath smooth skin.

With a flare of boldness he dipped his fingers lower, burrowing beneath the waistband of Melkor’s trousers, and the stirring flesh he found there made something bright and hungry rip up from his stomach. He swallowed Melkor’s moan as he took his hardening cock in hand, as they continued to kiss.

It was easy to lose himself in these passions, as easy as staying underwater too long until the world around you shimmers silver and endless and your lungs are screaming at you to breathe. Instinct long buried underneath too many cares rose up to guide him. He broke their kiss, lingering just for one indulgent heartbeat as Melkor pressed their foreheads together, stroking over his cheeks, his neck, his chest. Then in one smooth motion Mairon slid off the couch and to his knees between Melkor’s parted thighs.

In quiet fascination Melkor watched him. He seemed subdued, almost, but Mairon was long past the days when that might have disquieted him. He did not mind, not when his master’s cock was hard and straining against his stomach, not when his fingers slid into his hair to cradle the back of his skull, not when Melkor gasped loudly as Mairon leaned forward and drew his tongue up the underside of his length.

Slowly Mairon continued. He teased his way up his master’s cock in wicked little flicks of the tongue, pausing every so often to draw Melkor’s tip into his mouth only to release him after the briefest moment of glorious suction.

“Tease,” Melkor accused, but the reproach was given without heat. His voice was low, husky with need, and Mairon _adored_ it.

In response Mairon grinned up at him, and a second later dipped down, taking him deep into his mouth. Melkor cursed, tightening his hold on Mairon’s hair, and happily Mairon obliged. He settled into a comfortable rhythm, letting Melkor guide him by the hair, doing his best to remember what Melkor enjoyed.

It did not take long for Melkor’s breaths to become heavy, for his hips to start moving in tiny undulations that matched Mairon’s rhythm. And when Mairon took him down to the hilt, pressing himself to his master’s pelvis and staying there for long, burning seconds, Melkor cursed again and drew him away by the hair.

“You’ve always had a clever mouth,” Melkor smirked, a little breathlessly. In response Mairon merely laughed a little delighted laugh, intoxicated on the taste of Melkor lingering heavily on his tongue, on their closeness, their intimacy, the unwavering rightness of it all.

Serenely he let Melkor draw him to his feet and tug him towards the bedroom. He settled himself on the bed, shedding his clothes with Melkor’s eager assistance. His own cock was achingly hard, smearing pre-come across his abdomen, and he willingly tipped himself into the violent pleasure of it as Melkor took him in hand and stroked him so exquisitely that all his nerve endings seemed to light up like a bonfire.

“Please,” he whispered, as Melkor drew his thumb over the flared, swollen flesh of his tip.

He spread his legs in lewd suggestion, and such dark promise flickered in Melkor’s smile that it nearly stopped the breath in his lungs.

Melkor pressed two fingers against his lips. Without waiting for Melkor's instruction, Mairon sucked them into his mouth, holding his master's gaze as he laved at them with his tongue. Melkor chuckled at his eagerness, withdrawing his fingers now slick with saliva and sliding them between his legs to brush against his entrance.

Slowly, carefully Melkor worked one finger inside of him. Mairon did not bother restraining the gasp that sprang from his lips. The sensation was a little alien, a little intrusive; but Melkor remembered his body well, and soon enough he was twisting a second finger into him, curling them just so, until Mairon cried out softly with the sheer paralysing delight of it. Melkor continued until his wrist was sore and Mairon was nearly incoherent with the bright, burning pleasure in his belly.

“Please, _please_ , my lord...” he was saying, writhing, bucking his hips, cock heavy and neglected against his stomach.

“You are so beautiful,” Melkor murmured to him. And if his voice was solemn, then Mairon said nothing, simply accepting Melkor’s bulk on top of him with an appreciative moan.

Finally, _finally_ Melkor obliged him, gently nudging his cock past the tight ring of muscle. The stretch hurt; Mairon's new body was unaccustomed to it, and the saliva coating Melkor's length did not provide enough lubrication. But Mairon did not care. He tilted his hips, deepening the angle until Melkor sank into him to the hilt, and the wondrous fullness that crashed through him made the world melt away.

Neither the past nor the future seemed to matter as Melkor began to move inside of him. There was a brightness in his belly like a supernova, flowing into his very toes, casting gemstone scintillas behind his eyelids. Melkor’s lips sought his own, softly, ever so softly, in titillating contrast to the breathless violence of his thrusts as he fucked him: fucked him as though he were trying to reach across the millennia between them and rip them out of existence, fucked him until his bones echoed with the glorious hurt of it and something huge and nameless swelled in his chest.

Neither of them could last very long, not when bodies welcomed each other home and the sticky spurt of seed felt like absolution. Mairon came first, vision blurring to glorious white, hips smashing up against Melkor, taking his cock impossibly deep as his body rode out its release. Melkor came too, during or maybe soon after, Mairon couldn't quite tell, moaning out his ardour and shamelessly rutting into him until his muscles loosened all at once, sated, luxuriating. 

And then it was over, and Mairon felt there were not enough words in the whole world to articulate the enormity of it. Melkor withdrew from him to slip underneath the covers. Mairon joined him, curling himself into his master’s chest, savouring the arm that Melkor draped so protectively, so securely over his waist. His mind had grown quiet; he’d forgotten what it was like to feel at peace.

Melkor sighed contentedly. He pulled him closer still, and they stayed like that for a long time, Melkor stroking his fingers in aimless patterns down his back, Mairon placidly hovering on the fuzzy edge between sleep and wakefulness.

Eventually Melkor broke the silence.

“I love you,” he said simply, unprompted, and the sincerity in his voice bled straight through Mairon. His heart lurched; the world seemed to teeter, like a pot of ink pushed too close to the edge of a table.

All of the pain, all of the humiliations, all of those sharp twisting pointless emotions that had kept him up at night; the tears and the pleading, the violence, the bruises; words not meant and touches that had made him bestial, that had made him holy.

It had all led him, them, to this. He would not change any of it for the world.


End file.
